


Blithe

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Ship + prompt answers [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, Happy Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stockings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Carter and Private Rogers have been scheduled for leave, by no work of chance, at the same time. Leaving the rest of the soldiers on leave behind in the nearest town, the pair of them quietly slip away to a motel to spend the night together. Peggy flexes her undercover-operative charms and what follows is a night of spontaneity and smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blithe

**Author's Note:**

> In response to the prompt _Steve/Peggy + Stockings_ from the lovely [atwelling.](http://atwellling.tumblr.com/)

Peggy was tired of brief, stolen moments and fleeting kisses and heated glances.

In her imagination they were perfectly in tune, had a rhythm all their own. In her dreams she memorized all of his sharp angles and sweeping curves with her fingers and tongue and lips. They fitted their bodies together, sliding and sticky with sweat. They ripped at each other’s clothes and stumbled through her flat or her quarters in the barracks. They knocked over lamps and pushed files and pens and ceramic mugs off of desks. They moved slowly and tenderly and he touched her like he was praying, holy palmers.

Peggy was tired of her own cot and sheets. Her own hands. She’d much rather be palm to palm and lip to lip, no room for saints between them.

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at the ceiling, tossing the paperback copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ aside. She hadn’t thought it was funny when it appeared at her usual place in the Mess but at least it had staved off boredom for a few short hours.

Peggy groaned and sat up on the edge of her cot. The Army-issued sweater and pants were rough against her skin. It would be hot during the day, but in the dark hours of the early morning there was still a significant chill in the air. She rubbed at her arms, trying to warm herself with the friction, and stood to stretch. She’d be drilling the recruits before breakfast and again immediately afterward. She worked the kinks out of her body and slowly limbered up. Body warmed, she dressed in her uniform and twisted her hair into a precise chignon. She slipped her boots onto her feet and laced them up, looking up at the calendar on the wall from the edge of her cot.

Peggy smiled to herself as she crossed the previous day out with the pencil hanging by a bit of twine beside the calendar.

Once she got through today, she could have what she was so longing for.

***

Steve was fighting through the tightness in his chest, doing his best to ignore the trembling in his arms and the way the balls of his feet were burning. He’d lost count of how many push-ups they’d done, the entire group effectively punished for Hodges’ continued insubordination.

He focused his sight on the ground just in front of him and offered up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t collapse there in the dust. He nearly did when the dirt rose in a cloud around him and he held back a sneeze. The toe of Peggy’s boot invaded his peripheral vision.

“As I understand it, Private Rogers, _you_ are scheduled for two days of leave.” Her shadow fell over him as she squatted down, nearer to his level.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you plan on using your leave, Private?”

“As best I can, ma’am.”

“Tell me, Rogers, what’s your best?” He could hear the smile in her voice, clearly amused at her own line of farcical questioning. “Are you going to go off to some cheap bar with the rest of these fools? Get yourself good and drunk? Take some girl back to a motel?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you just telling me what I want to hear, Private?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you bothering to count anymore?”

“No, ma’am.”

She snorted, holding back a proper laugh.

Steve was sorer than he’d been the whole time he was at Camp Leigh when he fell into bed that night at lights-out. He stared up into the semi-darkness, the amber glow of the nighttime lighting in the yard beyond the window not allowing night to fully descend on the room.

The soreness didn’t stop the excited thrum under his skin at the prospect of going on leave in the morning. He didn’t exactly understand why, but none of the men in his unit were allowed to go very far from the camp. Something to do with the man who’d recruited him, Dr. Erskine, and the sensitivity of the project they were all involved in. So far, they hadn’t done anything Steve would have considered particularly important, but he supposed it wouldn’t be too wise to try to defy the order.

He and Peggy had made plans.

He was still trying to work out just how they’d pulled it off, making them. They’d practically spoken in code for days, trying to keep looks and touches to an absolute minimum, trying not to attract Colonel Phillips’ attention—especially when Peggy requested two days of leave of her own when she wasn’t scheduled to have any until the following week.

Steve couldn’t wait until they were away from camp and he could slip his hand into Peggy’s without fear of…

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was afraid of.

Getting kicked out? Court marshalled? What was the worst they could do to him?

It was Peggy he worried about, what might happen to her she was caught fraternizing with one of the recruits she was supposed to be training? He’d heard the way some of the higher-ups spoke to and about her. He got the distinct feeling that if it was the other way around—if it was someone like Phillips getting into bed with one of the office girls or the WAC ladies—that it wouldn’t be a problem.

She didn’t deserve their bullshit and he refused to add to it.

Steve closed his eyes and folded his arms behind his head. He drew in as deep a breath as he was able, smiling to himself in the almost-darkness, anxious and excited in spite of his own hesitance.

Come tomorrow evening, he wouldn’t have to imagine what it would be like to touch Peggy’s arms or face. He wouldn’t have to wonder what it would feel like to have her lips on his. He felt himself blush at the prospect of ceasing to exclusively imagine other things as well—what it would be like to lie beside her, skin to skin, what it would be like to have her hands on his body and his on hers.

His heart thumped a little harder in his chest at the prospect. He turned onto his side and pulled the rough drab blanket over his shoulder, settling down for what he was sure would be a long night.

The air was still chilly and heavy with moisture when Steve reported to the shooting range. In just a few short hours he’d be on leave for a solid forty-eight. He’d, hopefully, be spending all of that time with Peggy. Over the weeks that he’d been in basic, they’d slowly gotten to know each other over conversations in the Mess during mealtimes and the little bit of free time that they were granted each evening.

Steve had felt an immediate kinship with her. She was brash and honest. A brawler. She knew who she was and what she was about. She made Steve want to know her, desperately.

He thought that maybe, this was fate’s way of putting her in his path and him in hers.

If he’d met her in any other way, he didn’t think he’d ever have gotten the chance to know her. His own misgivings and insecurities would have made sure of that. In this setting things were different. He found himself capable of confidence that he hadn’t been before. It didn’t hurt that Peggy wasn’t anything like the gals from his neighborhood, as entirely cliché as that sounded.

Steve squinted down into the field, the targets were farther out than they had been in his last session. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to see it to aim, let alone actually hit the bull with a bullet. He’d be happy if he hit something, period.

He went through the motions of checking his gun and loading it with ammunition, listening carefully to the announcements from the range instructor. He braced the shoulder stock against his body and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he squeezed the trigger.

“Rogers, wake the hell up.” The instructor was standing beside him, a pair of binoculars in hand. “That was so far left you almost his Hodges’ target.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize, just do it right.”

Steve could hear Peggy’s voice somewhere behind him and grimaced. She was picking up the reports from the previous day and checking in on this group’s progress. Steve readjusted his grip, tried to settle the stock more comfortably—a nearly impossible task for someone with his build, no muscle to cushion it. He tensed, his shot going wide again, when someone cleared their throat over his shoulder.

“You’re going to fall over.” Peggy spoke softly, just loud enough for him to hear. “The recoil is going to kill you like this.” He wouldn’t admit to it, but his shoulder was already on fire from the wooden stock smacking back into it after only a few shots.

Steve kept his eyes down the range. He could feel her leg move between his, the toe of her boot whacking against the inside of each of his feet in turn until he inched out into the position she wanted him in. Her hands fell onto his hips and adjusted the pivot. Her thumbs dug into his shoulder blades, forcing him to relax. Without the tension across his back he could feel his arms begin to tremble. Visions of himself dropping his rifle, arms weak from the weight of it, flashed through his mind. Her fingers moved down over his biceps, her chest to his back, just barely touching. A firm touch at his elbows made him unlock them. Her hands covered his. He glanced for a moment at the shiny red lacquer on her nails as she moved his left hand slightly further down the grip.

“Knees.” Steve gulped. She made a quiet scoffing sound and pressed her knee into the back of his. “ _Relax._ You’ll never hit a damned thing if you don’t relax. You’re all… wound up.” He nearly burst into laughter. How was he supposed to relax when he was training with the intent to kill another person? If he ever made it into the field, it wouldn’t be bullseyes and stuffed animals and wooden boards.

The range instructor gave the signal to fire.

“Well, would you look at that?” Peggy made a satisfied sound and moved down the line. Steve heard the _thwack_ of her boot against someone else’s foot who wasn’t in proper position. The range instructor came down the line with his binoculars again and hummed in approval.

Steve couldn’t help but smile when he walked down the range to see how he’d done when they were given the all-clear. He’d still missed far more than he’d hit, but there was a neat grouping pretty damned close to the bull.

He took special care that afternoon when he was changing into his uniform, making sure he didn’t sit down too much and wrinkle his pants, making sure his tie was nice and straight before he tucked the end between the buttons of his shirt. He frowned at his hair, unable to make it sit where he wanted, and shoved his cap down.

The men who were going on leave loaded onto a bus that would drop them off in the nearest town. They were all boisterous and lively, talking about how many girls they’d find and how many drinks they’d have and how great it would be see people who weren’t lost in a sea of olive and khaki.

Steve quietly separated himself from the group as they herded down the main street toward the town’s only bar. Peggy had told him to head south. The diner they were meeting at didn’t have a name, but it wouldn’t be hard to spot. He smiled at the waitress when she asked him how many.

“Two, ma’am.” He took his cap off. She grinned at him and picked up a second menu and led him to a booth. He ordered coffee and glanced at the selection, anxious over how the evening would play out, anxious over how easy it would be for any of the other men to wander in and spot them.

He gulped down the hot coffee while he waited. His waitress swung by with the pot, steam curling around her face as she poured. “That who you’re waiting for?” She gestured with the pot toward the door where a dark-haired woman was craning her neck, looking for someone. Steve stood, unconsciously trying to smooth his hair to the side. The woman turned toward him and broke out into a wide smile, her stride as she moved toward him purposeful. The waitress laughed and told him to have fun.

Peggy looked stunning in purple.

***

It was odd seeing Steve outside of camp. He seemed far less like a wind-up toy with its screw overturned. His shoulders rounded, his back curved, his hands and fingers flowed when he made gestures.

Peggy couldn’t take her eyes off of his mouth as he spoke, a French fry pinched between his fingers and his expression serious as he described the brushstrokes in some painting he loved. She finished the last mouthful of her Coke pulling it up through the red-and-white straw stuck in the glass bottle. “You’re not really like any of the other men in the program.”

He laughed harshly. “I’m painfully aware of that.” He put his fry down and gestured at himself.

“No! No, that’s not what I mean. The rest of them… they’re…” She struggled to find the words she was looking for. “They’re soldiers. Very much so. You’re not.”

“Then what the hell am I doing here?”

“I don’t mean it like that, Steve. It’s a good thing. At least I think so.”

“Colonel Phillips sure doesn’t.”

“Steve, I’ll let you in on a secret: his opinion doesn’t matter.” He looked at her in complete disbelief. “Ultimately, it’s Dr. Erskine’s decision.”

“Decision about what?”

“I’m afraid I can’t really tell you that.” She frowned at the food on her plate. “Not right now at least.”

After their meal, Peggy led Steve outside to her car. “That’s a fancy set of wheels.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’ve borrowed it from Stark.”

“Stark?”

“Yes, Howard Stark. He’s—“

Steve laughed, “I know who Howard Stark is. You’ve gotta be living under a rock if you don’t know who he is.” He slid comfortably into the passenger’s seat. It struck Peggy that another man might have insisted on driving. “How do you know him?”

“He’s involved with the project.”

“And I’m guessing you can’t say any more?”

“You’d be guessing right.” She started up the car and eased into the evening traffic. “Didn’t think it would be wise to take a car from the camp.” If she was just going out for the night it would be one thing, but she intended to use every moment of her leave possible.

They sat in comfortable silence as they drove just outside of town and pulled into the parking lot of a modest motel. Peggy put on her best demure face, bending her body toward Steve, letting him tuck his arm around her waist and pull her close. The man behind the counter raised a brow when they approached the front office. She could feel Steve’s gaze on her when she said in her softest voice, “I’ve a reservation.” The man pursed his lips and opened the guest book. “It’s Fisher.”

***

The book got slid across the desk and Peggy signed _Phryne Fisher_ in an elegant hand, nothing like the writing he’d seen on any of her various evaluation forms, always clipped together on a board. Steve waited until they were in their room to speak. Peggy seemed to visibly shake off the character she’d slipped into.

“Who’s Pry-nee?”

Peggy laughed and shucked off her jacket. “Phryne. My aunt—ah, a family friend, actually.”

“And what do you think she’d say about you checking into a motel with a man using her name?”

Peggy’s tongue slid out over her bottom lip and she plunked down on the edge of the bed. “She’d ask me how good the sex was.” Steve paused in loosening his tie, sputtering and wheezing. “She’s quite the free spirit.”

Steve sat down beside her. “Certainly sounds it.” He wheezed again, trying to control it and filling his chest as best he could.

“Taught me how to shoot when I was fourteen.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. My parents took my brother and I on holiday to visit her and my cousin—her ward, Jane—in Australia that summer. Mother was not pleased. Although, I think she was less fond of Phryne’s friend Mac teaching me about the wonders of a well-tailored pant-suit than she was about the shooting.”

Steve smiled and shook his head, realizing just how much he didn’t know about Peggy Carter.

In a flash he could see them, after the War, sitting at the automat in his neighborhood, getting to know each other in earnest. This had been their first date, not that they’d called it one, but he felt like they were out of time, the whole course of what he thought was their relationship flipped inside out and upside down by their circumstances.

Peggy was unbuckling her shoes and wiggling her toes, the shiny surface of her black stockings flashing in the low light.

“Is that really what we’re doing?”

Peggy cocked her head and looked at him, curious. “What?”

“Why we came here? To have sex?”

She frowned slightly, “Steve, if you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine.”

“No! No, I want to. I just… I wanna make sure _you_ do.”

She smiled softly and leaned in, touching his face. “I don’t see any reason not to.”

Peggy’s lips were soft and hard and persistent and hesitant all at once. Steve couldn’t help his leaning in, his open mouth, or the goofy look he was sure was plastered over his face when she pulled away.

“Was that alright?”

“More’n alright.” She laughed and kissed him again, forcefully. She pulled him in, her hands on either side of his face. His heart thumped hard in his chest. His hands wavered, fluttering nervously around her waist. She tilted her body, her weight pulling them toward the mattress. Steve took the opportunity to press her down, his hands on her hips. “We’re really doin’ this?” Peggy laughed and laced her fingers into his hair and kissed him thoroughly in response.

***

They laid across the bed, tangled up in each other, kissing slowly, exploring. Peggy’s body was humming, every last bit of her vibrating in anticipation.

For someone who claimed to have very little romantic experience, Steve knew how to kiss.

At the very least he seemed to learn how she liked to be kissed very quickly.

“You mustn’t muss your uniform.” She’d turned them over, pressing herself down hard on him, his sharp angles surprisingly solid under her weight. She rotated her hips, admiring the flush on his cheeks when she did.

He slid his hands up along her thighs following the line of the garter straps on the front of her legs under her dress. “You keep that up I’m not gonna have a choice.” She snorted in amusement and untied his loosened tie, popped the first few buttons of his shirt open.

“Well then, you should get undressed.”

“Uh huh.”

Peggy deliberately pressed down again and stretched her arms up over her head. She smiled down at him and opened the buttons at the front of her dress, easing the garment up over her head. She found herself blushing, unnerved by the reverent way he looked at her, eyes darting over every seam and fold in her slip until she pulled that up and over her head as well. She had to look away, bottom lip caught between her teeth, when his expression turned hungry.

Steve shifted and wiggled beneath her, hoisting himself up on his elbows and craning his neck forward for another kiss. His fingers moved to grip her shoulders and pull himself upright, their lips locked together. Peggy slid back in his lap slightly, giving him room to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She helped him out of it and the white tee under that, yanking them up out of the waist of his pants.

“You’re really sure?”

“Are you not?” Peggy worried, fleetingly, if he was only interested in the thrill of the taboo back at camp. She laid her hands against his chest and he recoiled. “I—“ Peggy dropped her hands and brought them up again, reflexively covering her chest.

Steve’s shoulders rounded, effectively pulling his torso away from her. He gripped the blanket under them tightly and threw his shoulders back, pushing his chest out in an almost defiant posture. “I’m sure. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding and traced her fingers down his sternum, “I don’t think you could do anything to disappoint me.”

He smiled up at her through his eyelashes and she melted. “Maybe… Maybe you wanna get off?” Peggy waggled her eyebrows at him and he barked out a laugh. “I mean, off of me. So I can get my pants off.”

Peggy swung her leg over, unable to wipe the smile off her face as she watched him from the bed. He carefully draped his shirts and tie over the back of the uncomfortable looking chair at the desk in the corner. His back to her, the yellowish light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows over the notches of his spine and the sharp jut of his shoulder blades, he unbuckled his belt and wrenched his feet from his shoes without untying them.

Peggy slid off the edge of the bed and made quick work of her brassiere and the clips on her garter belt. Steve cleared his throat, his body language as if he’d forgotten she was in the room. He hesitated before sliding his olive-colored shorts down off of his hips and setting them aside as well.

Peggy paused, leaving her clips dangling and moved in behind him. She placed a leg between his and ran her fingers down over his arms, her front pressed to his back. He drew in breath and let it out in a sharp huff. His head fell back against her shoulder, his lips pressed into a tight line.

She was tempted to tell him to relax.

He shuddered hard when she touched his cock, half hard, and stroked him firmly. Pulling his foreskin up over his crown on the up-stroke made him suck in air through his teeth. She turned her face toward his, drawing his earlobe between her teeth gently as she continued. His skin grew warm against hers and he breathed in and out steadily, filling and emptying his lungs completely each time.

Steve peeled himself away, turning and pulling Peggy down to him to kiss, fisting his hands in her hair to do it.

Peggy let him do it before pulling away. “I just want to take my stockings off.” He nodded and looked down at his feet looking unsure of what to do. Peggy leaned down to catch his eye and put her foot up on the seat of the chair to roll the stocking down her leg. She jokingly draped it over his shoulders. He smiled sheepishly and fingered the top of it, bringing it to his face briefly, running the edge over his bottom lip. Peggy rolled the second stocking off and left it over the chair with his clothes. Steve moved in, taking the initiative and asking permission with his expression, hooking his fingers into the waist of her panties. She nodded and he slipped a hand down the front of them, his fingers catching and tugging at her curls before slipping between her lips. She sighed and closed her eyes, his gentle stroking making a warm tingle begin in the soles of her feet.

Peggy pressed forward, effectively putting Steve against the wall. She kept her eyes on his as she pulled the stocking from around his neck. He closed his eyes as smiled when it touched his face, softly moving over his chin and cheeks. He furrowed his brow when Peggy brought it up to his eyes and wrapped the ends around the back of his head. She tied a loose knot and pecked a kiss against his nose.

“What’s this for?” Peggy sighed when he put his hands on her breasts boldly, fingers kneading gently.

“Just seemed like fun.” His lips spread into a smile again and he nodded.

They spent time there kissing and touching. Steve’s eyes stayed closed beneath the stocking-blindfold, though he could easily open them and see through it if he wanted. He seemed more relaxed, blush rose slowly on his cheeks and spread down his neck and across his chest. Peggy ran her fingers hard across his collarbones and shoulders, spread them across his ribs. She tried to memorize each bit of him she could touch, realizing it might be her only real chance. Steve shuddered and groaned and kissed her harder. His hands—still soft and uncalloused from time in the field—swept up over her belly to knead into her breasts, holding them, dragging his short nails across her nipples with delicious discomfort.

Peggy ran her hands down Steve’s back and gripped his behind. She smiled against his mouth, amused at the way his buttocks fit so readily in her hands. She pulled her lips away from his, leaning down to kiss his neck, the elegant sweep of it too tempting. His pulse raced under her lips his arms snaked around her neck and shoulders, pulling her closer. He swore under his breath and tilted his head back, offering more of his throat to her.

A rather unorthodox thought popped into Peggy’s head.

She moved her grip from his backside to his thighs, grabbing hard, pressing her fingertips in.

He gasped in surprise and his arms tightened around her when she lifted him. His legs tensed, heels locking in place around the back of her.

“Christ, Peg—I thought _you_ were the dame.” She hesitated, lifting her head, thinking he was offended. The smile on his face looked practically delirious, his eyes stayed closed beneath the stocking. He didn’t make a move to get away.

“I’m sorry.” She started to let him go, unsure.

“Don’t be—it’s… it’s different. It’s good. I—“ He shuddered and groaned, interrupted by the friction between them when Peggy readjusted her stance to support his light frame. “Really good.”

They kissed again, more frantic.

For someone so solemn and serious at camp, Steve was certainly vocal outside of it. He sighed and moaned softly. His torso arched toward her, his head thrown back as far as the wall behind him would allow, and he rubbed his hips against her. She spared a glance down at the tense muscle across his belly and the shining bit of arousal sticking to it in a fine thread from his hard cock.

Peggy gathered his body close to hers and carefully turned. She crossed the short distance from wall to bed in two strides, setting Steve down. She gently released his fingers from behind her neck and they dropped onto the bedcover beside his head. He laughed and dropped his legs, breathy and exhilarated. His expression went slack when she took him in hand once more, the flush on his face darkening.

“This is… not how I expected tonight to end up.”

Peggy walked up on her knees, smiling when Steve reached out to her again, light touches on her thighs and belly.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not in the least.”

Peggy reached down, pulling the gusset of her panties aside she rubbed the head of his cock though her folds, sending a fizzy sort of thrill up her spine. Steve jerked his hips up in unconscious response, his motion and her hands guiding him to rub against her clitoris in _just_ the right way.

He stopped, his thick brows furrowing together, his mouth pressing into a line. “Fuck—Peg, wait— _ngh_ —I got—I got a rubber in my pants pocket.”

“Diaphragm.”

She sank down on shaky legs. Steve’s lashes fluttered against the stocking across his eyes. Peggy rolled her hips forward experimentally. He brought his up. They fell into a rhythm, the subtle squeak of the mattress springs like a metronome dictating their speed.

Peggy picked at his wrists, taking his hands away from her body. He frowned but didn’t protest, waiting for her next move. She leaned forward, placing his hands over his head, his wrists under her hands. She continued to move, crying out in annoyance when he fell free of her, the elastic of her panties pushing him away.

She stopped, joining them again hastily and pressing her body down close to his. Their foreheads pressed together, she could feel the weave of the stocking over his eyes between them, rough against her skin in her excitement.

***

An hour after they’d started by the clock’s chime, Peggy was curled against Steve’s side. Their skin was sticky with sweat, shiny and slick in the low, yellowish light from the bedside lamp.

Steve hesitated to pull the stocking over his head, afraid to break the scene. He peeked out from the bottom of it, lifting his head to watch her when she turned her head to bite playfully at his nipple, grabbing his attention.

Her lips left a very faint stain of red against his overly pale skin. It was smeared across one cheek in a debauched-looking way. She grinned at him and laughed. He could imagine what he looked like.

“So, _Miss Fisher_ , what’s on the agenda for tomorrow? A fitting for a pant-suit?”

Peggy laughed more heartily and slipped into the tone she’d used before. It was a vaguely mid-west lilt, he realized. Not quite New York or East Coast, but certainly American. “Breakfast first, I think. Then back here. We’ve got the room until tomorrow night. Why waste it?”

Steve let go of the stocking, letting it cover his eyes again.

Even if training camp killed him, he’d damn sure die happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Phryne Fisher and her ward, Jane, are of _Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries_ fame. I absolutely adore [the show.](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1988386/) It's based on [the book series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/40997-phryne-fisher) by Kerry Greenwood. I'm kind of in love with the notion of Peggy knowing Phryne and someone like Phryne and Mac (and Dot!) being a big influence on the way that Peggy sees herself and the world and I imagine a little Peggy very much looking up to Jane.
> 
> For more prompts check out what I currently have on offer [here](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/otpchallenge) and then drop a message in my [askbox.](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/ask) I may not get to your prompt right away, I tend to work on them as inspiration strikes.


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